


light up the night sky

by viridae



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Fireworks, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:33:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25160182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viridae/pseuds/viridae
Summary: The first firework nearly makes Neil jump out of his skin.or, Neil struggles with his past on the Fourth of July.
Relationships: Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard
Comments: 20
Kudos: 324





	light up the night sky

**Author's Note:**

> slight tw for a panic attack and references to baltimore

The first firework nearly makes Neil jump out of his skin.

It’s an aborted flinch, barely there, but Andrew stiffens slightly, startled out of sleep. Neil pushes himself up, peeling away from Andrew.

“Sorry,” he says. The right side of his body is colder now that he’s not sharing body heat with Andrew. He nearly says  _ I’m fine,  _ before swallowing the words. Andrew won’t want to hear it. 

There’s a whistle as another firework flies into the air, and a moment of silence before it explodes. Red and green light filter through the blinds. Neil is more prepared for his reaction, but he knows that Andrew can’t miss how Neil’s body goes completely still. 

Andrew pushes himself up, detaching himself from Neil. Neil shifts to push the duvet off as well. Andrew flicks the lamp by his bed on, casting yellow light over them both. Everything feels sheltered and warm and protective.

That illusion is shattered when a third firework goes off, followed by a smattering of firecrackers. Neil doesn’t say anything. Neither does Andrew. But Neil knows that Andrew is piecing together his reaction, bit by bit; there’s a calculating look in his eyes that he only gets when there’s a problem to be solved. 

“We can go back to sleep,” Neil tries. 

The look Andrew gives him is unimpressed. It’s barely seven at night anyways, and the only reason they had fallen asleep in the first place was that Neil was worn through from a particularly vicious Exy practice earlier in the morning. 

He had completely forgotten about the Fourth of July and the implications of the evening. The fireworks have never bothered him before, not with his mother, not during the first summer with the Foxes. Neil knows that the Foxes have softened him up slightly. Enough that he doesn’t have to keep his guard up all the time, enough that he can show some weakness without the fear of someone weaponizing it. 

“We’re already up,” Andrew says. “Any more rest and you won’t be able to sleep tonight.”

Neil opens his mouth to agree when someone sets off a round of firecrackers without warning. This time, Neil is too slow or too unprepared to stop his reaction. His flinch is full body, and the firecrackers keep going, ringing through the walls, sparking and flashing and piercing. 

“Neil,” Andrew says, half a question, half a statement. 

“I’m going to use the bathroom,” Neil says abruptly. There’s too much noise happening, because every partygoer and teenager has apparently decided to set off Neil’s personal hell in the background, and he needs to escape. Andrew’s eyes are piercing; Neil swears he can feel the heat of his look on the back of his shoulder blades. 

The bathroom door clicks shut. Neil braces his arms on the counter and tries to remember how to breathe. 

The marble is cool against his forearms. He presses his palms into his eyes, hard, and forces his beating heart to still. When he takes his hands away, his eyes are red rimmed in the mirror. Another firework goes off, this time three in a row, muffled through the bathroom door. For a moment, in between blinks, he’s somewhere else. Somewhere away from the safety of Columbia. 

Before he knows it, he’s sinking down to the floor. 

Blinks. Sees a dusty sedan speeding down a California coast. Sees a shootout in a backdoor German alley. Sees a circular basement stained rusty. The eyes of his father glint awfully bright in the darkness. 

Two fireworks go off in quick succession. Neil, for a sickening, blinding moment, sees two shots go into his father’s chest instead. 

Andrew’s voice breaks through the fog. “Neil,” he says, clear as day. “Come back.”

The present swims in front of him, blurry and shifting. Andrew crouches in front of him, eyes steady, one hand on the back of his neck. 

“Neil,” Andrew says, more firmly, the slightest bit of worry behind it, “Come back to me. Abram. Breathe.” 

Neil almost laughs, an awful twisted choke and a hiccup, and gasps a shaky breath. A line of firecrackers go off outside, one after the other,  _ pop pop pop  _ of silenced gunshots. He sucks in another breath, and then another. Andrew’s hand is braced on the back of his neck. Grounding Neil to the earth. 

“You’re in the house in Columbia,” Andrew says, “The only other person here is me. Wherever you are is not real.” 

Neil tries to breathe again, but there’s a lump in his chest lodged behind his sternum stopping him, and no air can get past in. He gasps again, and the concern on Andrew’s face grows. Reflexively, his hands go to his ears. Muffling the gunshots. Muffling Andrew’s words. Muffling the world. 

Instead of taking them away so Neil can hear him, Andrew covers Neil’s hands with his own. The noise of outside fades away even more, a distant hum. Andrew’s chest rises and falls, and desperately, Neil tries to copy his rhythm. He can hear the hoarseness of his breath, echoing through his chest, and tries to focus. 

“ _ Breathe _ .” __

Andrew’s voice filters through, and Neil clutches onto it wildly. 

After an ageless eternity, Neil finally uncurls. His heart beats in his chest, fluttered and panicked, but at least his breathing has evened out. Andrew has moved from crouching to cross-legged in front of him. He takes his hands away from Neil’s ears slowly, and Neil drops his hands as well. 

“Sorry,” Neil says. His voice is raw. “I didn’t…”

Tonelessly: “Don’t apologize.”

Anything Neil wants to say is stuck in his throat. He doesn’t know how to form words right now. Everything about him feels rubbed raw and vulnerable. He wants to go back to how he was earlier, curled up, nothing able to find or damage him.

Andrew offers him a hand, and when Neil takes him, pulls him to his feet. He doesn’t let go of Neil’s hand as he moves to the kitchen area. He puts the kettle on to boil and opens the fridge door. Evidently, Andrew doesn’t want Neil to disappear inside himself. 

Andrew, usually quiet, fills the house in Columbia with noise. Puts on a riotous rerun of an Exy game. Cooks in the kitchen with music thrumming. Clatters pots and pans. Runs the kitchen disposal. Washes dishes under pounding sink water. 

Neil sinks into a corner of the couch and clutches a mug of tea between his hands. The heat seeps into his skin, diffuses slowly. He can still hear illegal fireworks going off in the background, one after the other. Every breath he takes, he tries to anchor himself back into the Columbia house. The noise Andrew makes drowns them out slightly, making it easier to stay in the present when he can focus on different noises rather than jarring silence. 

Andrew comes to him after a while with a plate of food. They eat it to the sound of a Trojans game in the background. Neil can’t even find the amusement in him that Andrew would willingly watch Exy with him, not when every part of him feels hollowed out and dark. He tries to taste each bite of food as he eats it, thinking about every piece of advice Andrew has given him from his time in therapy. 

Breathe _.  _ Ground yourself. Stay in the present. Neil looks down at the plate when his thoughts start slipping again.  _ Breathe.  _

He turns his attention back to his tea when his appetite is lost. It’s cooling down rapidly, and Neil takes a sip even though it tastes like nothing. Andrew puts his own plate aside and crosses his legs. He looks softer in the evening light, sweatpants and shirt rumpled, armbands off. Neil already knows what he wants to ask. 

“The fireworks?” Andrew says. It’s not a question, but a prompt. 

Neil takes another breath, in and out. His voice feels surprisingly steady when he speaks, unlike the shaky, jittering way his insides feel. 

“My uncle shot my father,” Neil says. “Every time I hear the fireworks, I see it happen again.”

He raises his hand to Andrew, skittering down Andrew’s chest, presses two fingers by his heart. Underneath his palm, Andrew’s heart beats, unfaltering and alive and free. 

Andrew curls a hand over Neil’s. “He’s dead,” he says. “You’re not.”

“They were shooting when they rescued me.” Neil says, voice crumpled. “I couldn’t do anything but move out of the way. I—” His voice fails him, and he swallows to try and speak again, but no words come out.

“Breathe,” Andrew reminds him softly. Neil nods at the reminder and tries to steady his breath. He still has a hand over Andrew’s chest and times his breaths with Andrew’s. For a moment they breathe in unison, blanketed in comfort. 

“You’re here,” Andrew says firmly, “You survived. No one can take that away from you.” 

“I survived,” Neil repeats.

“You survived.”

Neil’s hand drops to his lap and Andrew takes it. He curls their fingers together and Andrew’s thumb moves in circles over his knuckles. More firecrackers go off in the background, and Neil’s shoulders tense, but Andrew’s words swim in his mind. He survived. He’s alive. 

“I never told you,” Neil says, heart thudding in his ears with the unexpected admission, “That night in Baltimore, when I thought I was going to die, I was thinking of you.”

“Me,” Andrew echoes, with something like surprise in his tone. He opens his mouth and says nothing. 

“You,” Neil repeats. He supposes he should feel vaguely proud that he’s managed to make Andrew silent, although the context behind it is disheartening. “I wanted to hold onto you.”

Andrew’s eyes flick down to their clasped hands, back to Neil’s face, and says, “You are impossible.” His voice is slightly choked, and he takes a quick breath. “There isn’t a percentage high enough for you.”

From the television, the Trojans score an incredible goal. The cheers of the crowd fill the room, drowning out the next round of fireworks. The dishwasher runs from the next room amid excited sports commentary. Neil looks down at his tea and light spreads through his chest, bright and airy and golden. He looks back at Andrew and imagines that there is a thread tying the two of them together, unable to be broken. 

“Thank you,” Neil says. His voice feels too quiet for everything Andrew has given him. 

In response, Andrew says, “Anything.” 

Neil’s heart skips a beat, then another, and for a moment nothing exists except for him and Andrew. 

“You’re amazing,” Neil says, “You’re amazing, and I—” 

Before he can finish, Andrew tilts Neil’s chin up and kisses him, slow and drawn out. Neil soaks up the warmth Andrew gives off— he always runs hot— and waits for Andrew’s  _ yes  _ before twining his hands through Andrew’s hair and pulling him closer. Andrew’s hands move to the small of his back. Neil breaks off for air, and Andrew tugs Neil down just enough to kiss his forehead. 

“You’re here,” Andrew says. “That’s what matters.”

“I’m here,” Neil says, and he believes it. He’s here, in Columbia, and those are fireworks, not gunshots, and he is Neil, not Nathaniel. He’s here, with Andrew by his side, and he’s survived. 

Neil takes another sip of tea and settles into the couch again, this time relaxed and loose, and holds Andrew’s hand when he settles next to him. A sole firework goes off in the background, red white and blue, and Neil barely hears it.

**Author's Note:**

> if you enjoyed please leave kudos or a comment, i love to hear your thoughts <3


End file.
